31 Accidents  Puckurt Drabbles II
by PteraWaters
Summary: A Puck/Kurt Drabble for every day of January, with a theme: Accidents! Ratings listed per chapter, with the entire entry having the highest rating found. Day 18 - The Skate. Day 19 - The Horse.
1. The Cork Ginger Tea verse PG13

_It's another series of Puck/Kurt drabbles, and this time I have a theme: 31 Accidents! The drabble-fest is going on over at puckurt dot livejournal dot com, if you want to check out many more Puck/Kurt dribbles by lots of other authors. This chapter with my Ginger Tea and Apologies 'verse_

The Cork

"Come on, babe!" Noah's voice called from the other room, excited and impatient. "The countdown's about to start!"

"Yeah, Daddy!" Eleven-year-old Jake called out. "The countdown! You're gonna miss it!"

Carrying the unlocked bottle of champagne and three glasses with him into the living room, where his husband and their son were watching the livestream of the Times Square goings-on, Kurt replied, "Well excuse me for wanting to celebrate the new year in style."

As he set down the glasses on the end table, Jake asked, "Three glasses?"

Kurt winked at his son and said, "I think eleven and a half is old enough for a sip or two to ring in the new year, don't you?"

Noah hopped up from the couch and clapped a hand on Kurt's shoulder, grinning, "Way to be badass, babe! Hey, can I pop the cork?"

Kurt took a good long look at his husband's grin, trying to figure out his intentions and only seeing eagerness and mirth. "As long as that's not some sort of euphamism," he replied, handing over the bottle, which he'd already taken the foil from and started unwinding the wire, "then sure, honey. Just be caref-"

POP!

Kurt was in shock for a few seconds before it dawned on him that he'd been hit - in the _eye_ - by the cork. "Ow! Noah! I freaking told you to be careful! Shit!" The more time passed, the less numb his eye and it's surroundings felt and the more it stung like a motherfucker.

"Daddy!" Jake cried, scandalized by Kurt's language (not that he didn't hear just as bad, if not worse, from Noah on a regular basis).

"Holy crap, babe!" Noah cried, throwing down the bottle of champagne and pulling Kurt into his arms. "I'm so sorry! How bad is it? Do we go to the hospital? Should I get you some ice?"

Kurt sighed into his husband's shoulder and refused to answer any questions, instead opting for an angry groan and pressing one hand harder against his eyesocket to see if that would help the throbbing.

"Hey, Dad? Did you kill Daddy?" Jake asked as the countdown started on the TV behind them. "'Cause that would suck."

"Fifty-six! Fifty-five!"

"No!" Noah replied, hugging Kurt a little tighter. "He's gonna be fine. Right, babe? You're good, huh?"

"Forty-nine! Forty-eight!"

"Gimme a glass of champagne and that bag of peas from the freezer and we'll see," Kurt replied dryly, feeling a little cold as Noah let go of him and ran off toward the kitchen. Cracking his good eye open, Kurt noticed that his son was sitting on the arm of the couch, the bottle of champagne to his lips. "Jake!"

"Thirty-one! Thirty!"

"What?" the boy asked, his face the picture of innocence - a look he'd no doubt inherited from his father. "You _said_ I could have some." Without shame, he tipped the bottle back and took a long swallow before Kurt swayed te few steps over to him and grabbed it from his hands, spilling a little down Jake's shirt and onto the carpet. Fantastic.

"Twenty-two! Twenty-one!"

"I said a sip or two, not half the bottle," Kurt pointed out, setting it down on the end table, but missing because of his impaired depth perception. The champagne fell to the floor, glugging out onto the carpet and all Kurt could do was groan and press the heel of his palm against his eye.

"Seventeen! Sixteen!"

Shaking his head and taking the bag of peas Noah pressed into his hands, Kurt muttered, "What a way to start the new year..."

"Six! Five! Four!"

"Just put these," Noah said softly, guiding the hand holding the peas up towards Kurt's face, "on your eye and kiss me, alright?"

"Two! One!"

Kurt shrugged, "Yeah, okay."

"Happy New Year!" Jake cried, blowing the noisemaker Noah had bought him and jumping in place a little as he celebrated. Kurt shook his head a little - fondly - at his son and then kissed his husband as best he could with one side of his face covered in frozen vegetables. "Ew! Get a room!"

Kurt chuckled into the kiss before pulling back, looking up at Noah with his good eye. The man stroked his fingers through the hair above Kurt's neck and insisted, "I'm _so_ sorry, baby."

"I know," Kurt nodded, giving Noah half a smile and wondering just how many foot-rubs he could milk this incident for in the coming year. Probably a lot. Considering the boots he'd bought himself with some of the Christmas money his parents had sent, Kurt was going to need those foot rubs. Badly.


	2. The Superglue  PG

_I'm in a humorous mood, lately!_

Of all the ways Puck thought his relationship might be discovered by people who weren't yet supposed to know, he never thought super glue would be involved.

"Oh my god!" Mercedes cried as he and Kurt were sitting in the emergency room, waiting to be unglued somehow. Mercedes' appearance was so unexpected that Puck's heart leapt up into his throat in fear and he almost jumped away from Kurt - until he remembered why they were here in the first place.

Looking over, Puck noticed Kurt's expression very clearly stating, "I am going to kill you for supergluing your hand to my ass, especially now that someone we know has seen us."

Puck sent back a shrug in turn, which said, "Sorry, babe, but you should know better than to tempt me while I'm fixing the vase my Ma loves. Besides, it's your fault we broke it while making out."

Still silent, Kurt pursed his lips as if to say, "Oh, don't even, Noah Puckerman," before turning to greet Mercedes, words escaping between clenched teeth. "Fancy meeting you here! Everything alright?"

Mercedes nodded while framing her neck around and lifting one eyebrow at Puck's hand underneath Kurt's coat and pants. Turning back to Kurt, she explained, "Just here to see my grandma in the long-term care wing. ER's the fastest way back to the parking lot. How about you, baby boy? What's with this?" She pointed back and forth between the two of them and Puck gave Mercedes an little wave with his free hand and a smile that probably turned out more like a grimace.

"Just a silly accident," Kurt insisted, right as the nurse called his name. Puck and his boyfriend shared a look, both knowing that as soon as they got up, it would be painfully obvious where Puck's hand was glued.

"Kurt? Kurt Hummel?" the nurse asked again and there was no way Puck was waiting for another two hours before getting this taken care of.

Sure, he liked having his hand on Kurt's ass, but his Ma didn't even know he was seeing a guy, and he was already late for dinner, which always meant the third degree. So, Puck grabbed under Kurt's arm with his free hand and hauled them both up out of their chairs. "Here," he called out to the nurse before turning to Mercedes and winking. "See ya later. Kurt and I have some business to take care of." Puck wiggled his eyebrows suggestively before dragging Kurt back toward the nurse, ignoring the annoyed way Kurt kept smacking his shoulder.

"You know what this means, Noah," Kurt hissed in Puck's ear as they walked (or sort of shambled due to the odd way they were stuck together). "In twenty minutes, everyone we know will hear about you having your hand stuck to my butt!"

Puck shrugged and said those words he knew Kurt had been waiting to hear since they'd first got together, "Eh, let 'em find out."


	3. The Canoe PG

_This one turned out with a very sterotypical Kurt, but oh, well._

"Remind me again why I agreed to come on this stupid trip with you two," Kurt huffed, pulling his oar through the water. His life vest was itchy and smelled vaguely like mildew; he could already feel the beginnings of a nasty sunburn on the tops of his nose, knees, and feet; and his wonderfully maintained and manicured hands were starting to get blisters from the damp wooden oar. In other words, Kurt Hummel was in hell.

"Because you were planning on spending the entire summer with Blaine before he slept with that OSU guy," Finn quite needlessly pointed out.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt switched his oar to the left side so their canoe would miss that pile of rocks up ahead and called over his shoulder, "That was a rhetorical question, Finn. What I _meant_ to say was, 'I hate this. I should have stayed at the hotel.'"

Behind him, perched in the middle seat of the canoe, Puck guffawed and said, "You mean the _tent_ back at the campsite? Dude, you were afraid of bears. You wouldn't let us leave you behind."

Turning around, Kurt huffed, "Yes, well if _your_ skin care products - if they existed, which, let's face it, your pores say they don't - all contained _honey_, then you would be wary of wild animals that had a predilection towar- Ahhh!"

While he had been complaining, Kurt hadn't been watching the river or his balance and was knocked into the water by a combination of a large rock tilting the canoe sideways and a tree branch thwacking him across the chest. Shocked and utterly humiliated, Kurt stood up in the shallow river water, hating the way it felt, cold and slimy lapping just below his armpits, and grabbed onto the side of the canoe before it could float away without him.

"Oh, man!" Puck cried, his grin wide and almost mocking, but with a sympathetic twinkle in his eye. How he and Finn had managed to stay upright and dry, Kurt would never know. "That was classic!"

Giggling like a school girl from his perch at the very back of the canoe, it took Finn a few seconds to get enough breath to ask, "You okay, dude?"

Scowling, Kurt asked, "Do I look okay? You two are taking me back to the city and paying for an entire day at the spa to fix the damage being wraught by this awful river water! Now help me back into the boat."


	4. The Button PG13

_I just posted my third drabble, "The Canoe" yesterday. Also, this one totally goes with drabble 27 from June, but you won't have to read that one to understand this one._

"Babe," Noah muttered as he was freaking manhandled into a broom closet, when his lips weren't otherwise occupied, "we're gonna wrinkle the duds. I'm on in, like, twenty."

Whoever might think Puck was the more practical of the two of them obviously didn't know Kurt Hummel very well. "Then take them off. C'mon. We're working with a time crunch here."

Puck shrugged. With various shows taking one or the other of them to the _wrong_ cities for the last six weeks, he was just as desperate for a little contact before they flew in opposite directions again as his boyfriend was. So, he set to work on the buttons of his shirt, hissing, "Why don't you ever design anything with zippers? Or, I don't know, snaps?"

Kurt paused in his task of unbuttoning Noah's pants and even though it was pitch black in the closet, Puck could almost see the way he raised one eyebrow in disdain, "Snaps, Noah? _Snaps_? Well, there's one more good reason why I'm the designer and you're the model, sweetheart."

Then Puck was being kissed again, his pants dropped around his ankles and then deftly taken off over his shoes and god, Kurt's head was in an intriguing location. He said as much out loud, but Kurt only stood back up and growled, "Not enough time," before slipping his hands up the bottom of Puck's shirt and pushing the two sides apart.

_Snap! ... Clink, clink, clink, clink!_ "Noah? What was that?" Kurt asked, and this time Puck could totally see the horror on his face, which killed the mood pretty quickly and put Puck's heart up in his throat. When he didn't answer, Kurt asked again, "Noah?"

"I guess I missed a button, babe," he replied carefully, moving his hands up to protect his face. Sometimes Kurt got flaily when he was mad.

"You _guess_?" Kurt cried, sounding less mad than Puck had feared and more freaked the fuck out. "I can't send you out in one of my designs with a _button missing_! I'll be the laughingstock of the studio! Quick open the door or fond a light or something. We have to find it!"

Knowing his chances of sex were nonexistent at this point and that his career was so wrapped up in Kurt's that he would be lucky to model ever again if Kurt stoppe designing, Puck rushed to comply with his boyfriend's request, only asking, "Can I have my pants back?" once the light switch had been found.

"And let you get them dusty on this floor? I don't think so!" Kurt replied, already moving things around to search behind and below them. "In fact, I'm taking your shirt, too." Sighing, Puck let got to his hands and knees on the cold concrete floor and started looking.

After a minute, he asked, "Hey, don't you have extras or something? We could sew one of those on real quick."

"An extra diamond-studded mother of pearl button?" Kurt scoffed, and Puck supposed that was a no. "Just keep looking."

Puck sighed and resumed his search, finally spotting something shiny near the drain in one corner of the closet. The button was hanging precariously on the edge of one of the grate openings, so Puck told Kurt, "Don't move. I see it."

"Can you get it?" Kurt asked, his voice breathless in that way that always made Puck hot under the collar. "Where is it? If I have to pull this outfit, my whole show is ruined!"

Rolling his eyes as he reached forward, Puck said, "Chill, babe. I got it. I got it." Except then the button slipped through his fingers and clinked down the drain. "I don't got it."

Puck looked up, expecting Kurt to chew him out for losing it, but instead all the designer did was bury his head in his hands and laugh.


	5. The Therapist PG13

The Therapist AU - PG-13

It had just been a misstep, a sharp, sudden pain when he rolled his ankle and now Georgia was threatening to pull Puck from the show unless he went through with this lame-ass physical therapy shit. Seriously, just some ice, some elevation, and a few days of watching ESPN Classics and Maury Povitch and his ankle would be as good as new. What could paying for a stupid PT do that Puck couldn't on his own?

But Georgia wouldn't let Puck dance until he got a fucking permission slip from this PT, and how was he gonna get laid if he couldn't impress people with his sick moves and the bulge in his tights? If not one of the girls in the troupe or his understudy, Sebastian, Puck always had fans he could chat up and convince into taking him home for the night.

This whole PT thing was gonna blow. And not in the good way.

When Puck got to this Sue Sylvester's office, there wasn't really a waiting area, just what looked like a lame hotel gym, complete with a Bowflex and that one lonely dude doing rounds. Not wanting to make an ass of himself by barging through the wrong door in an attempt to announce his presence, Puck approached the guy doing leg lifts and asked, "Hey, dude. Do you know where I'm supposed to go?"

The guy turned and he was younger and prettier than Puck had noticed at first. Giving Puck a pitying (but also sort of smug) little smile, he replied, "Sue knows you're here. She wants to see what you'll do, given this equipment to wait on. I suggest working something other than where you're injured. She likes self-starters."

Puck figured it couldnt hurt and this guy's tone said he knew what he was talking about, so Puck shrugged and sat down on the lat press across from the young man, being careful not to jostle his injured ankle. "So what're you in for?" he asked as he adjusted the weight on the machine and tested out his grip on the bar. "Lemme guess - ice dancing injury?"

"Do you always judge a book by its cover?" the guy replied, getting up from his machine and giving his leg a slow stretch.

"I find covers usually tell the whole story," Puck replied, taking a second to check out the guy's perfect ass. "But not ice dancing, huh? Gymnastics?"

"Fucked up my ACL a few months ago," he replied, icy blue stare telling Puck he'd been caught looking, "playing professional soccer. Sue doesn't treat just anyone, you know. In fact," he smiled almost sweetly, but with a feral edge, "I'd be interested in what sport landed you here. Hockey? Baseball?"

"Ballet," Puck replied with one final pull on the bar before letting the weights down and grinning up at his fellow patient. "You're picturing me in the tights now, aren't you?"

"No," he scoffed, but the mottled red blush across his face said otherwise. Maybe physical therapy wasn't going to be so bad.

"Puckerman! You're up!"

On second thought, that was one scary-looking lady beckoning Puck into the back rooms. Christ.

_Reviews are greatly appreciated! Also, if there are any "accidents" you'd particularly like to see, let me know!_


	6. The Cowboy Hat PG13

When the tour bus rolled into New York and up to the back door of the venue - Puck couldn't quite remember its name at the moment - it was late morning and everyone but Puck and the driver was still asleep. Gil, the driver, put the bus into park and killed the engine before practically leaping out of his seat and down the stairs, cigarette already in his mouth, ready to be lit. Puck had been on e-nicotine for the past three years and his lungs were certainly thanking him for it; plus, most groupies these days hated making out with a dude who smoked. Gil was married to a fat woman who smoked cigars, so he was happy lighting up whenever he could.

Yawning into a stretch, Puck kicked Larsen, the band manager, to wake him up so they could start setting up the show. Larsen made some pouting noises before finally shaking himself awake, standing up and stretching as well. "We here?"

"Yep," Puck replied, shrugging on his jacket and looking around for his phone. It had been plugged into one of the outlets here near the front of the bus... Oh, there it was. Behind where Larsen had been sleeping, along with, "Oh, shit."

"What?" Larsen asked, obviously startled by the tone in Puck's voice. He pointed and the manager echoed his exclamation, "Oh, shit!" Eyes wide and voice low so no one else would hear, Larsen asked, "That was the last one we had, wasn't it?"

Puck reached past him to pick up the tan cowboy hat Larsen had been sleeping on, revealing that not only was it squished to high heaven, but the brim was also ripped and stained with wine in several places. Keeping his voice low, Puck remarked, "He's not gonna go on without it."

"Guess who's problem that is," Larsen replied, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"Shit."

Puck sighed and made sure he had his phone, his wallet, and his work credit card before stumbling off the bus and out into the daylight. Squinting as he pulled his shades from the pocket of his jacket and pushed them on, Puck jogged away from the bus and out toward the main street. A quick search showed a slew of hat shops in the city, and Puck contemplated getting a coffee and calling them all up one by one until he found the exact right make, color and size, but then he had a better idea. He scrolled through his contacts and selected one with a grin.

His contact answered on the third ring, "What could you possibly want, Puckerman? I'm not letting you crash on my couch again. You still owe me for the slip cover you destroyed. And my favorite coffee mug. _And _ emotional damages, which don't come ch-"

"Yeah, great," Puck interrupted, knowin Kurt could chew him out for four hours straight if he set his mind to it. "Hey, Listen. I've got a wardrobe emergency here. Any chance you could help me out?"

There was a long moment of silence before Kurt sighed into the microphone and asked, "What sort of emergency?" Puck smirked at how Kurt sounded more than a little intrigued. "I need..." Puck pulled back his phone and sent Kurt a quickly-snapped picture of the hat before continuing, "another one of these hats, in the right size, before eight o'clock tonight. My boss won't go on without one and I somehow got volun_told_ that I was the man for this particular job."

"I don't know..." Kurt wavered. "If it was a blazer, maybe I could help, but a _cowboy hat_? That's going to take some actual work on my part."

"C'mon, pleeease?" Puck begged. "I'll come by tonight and do that thing you like."

"Hmm," Kurt said, like he was thinking it over, which Puck knew he would do. Puck was about eighty percent sure Kurt was going to say yes, too. "How long are you in town?"

Well, that question was a good sign. "Five days," Puck replied, "maybe eight if Dan doesn't go on any benders and I take the train up to Boston next Tuesday."

Puck must have said the right thing, because Kurt said, "Text me the size and I'll see what I can do."

"Sweet, babe," Puck replied, making his way back to help set up the show before he disappeared on them and crossing his fingers for the first time the whole tour that his services as understudy guitar player weren't going to be needed. "See ya soon!"

_Again, reviews are very much appreciated!_


	7. The Fall Dragon verse PG13

_Same 'verse as "Claim" and Drabble 12 from June. Kurt/Blaine heavily mentioned._ The battle had been raging heavily for quite some time - Puck could tell because his lugs were burning, his wing muscles ached, and there was more than a trickle of blood in his left eye - when Lauren cried, "Oh, shit!" from her seat on his back and pulled his reigns to get him to look up.

Above them and a few hundred yards to the side, Blaine was falling. Blaine was falling and Kurt wasn't pushing away! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Adrelinine back full-force, Puck tilted his wings and swooped to the side before flapping frantically forward. He was vaguely aware of the battle going on around them, but figured Lauren had it covered and instead kept his eyes trained on the two figures falling out of the sky. As he watched, Blaine started shifting back into his human-like form, Kurt's saddle growing larger and larger on his back until it was almost as big as Blaine.

Both dragon and rider were obviously unconscious - as limp as ragdolls - and strapped together as they fell. Ignoring everything except how to dive and get under them with enough time to pull up, Puck pushed himself harder than he thought possible. He tucked in his wings and dove, making Lauren screech and curse at him, though he knew her displeasure was just for show, and just barely managed to get under them in time for Lauren to cry, "Secured! Pull up, Puckerman!" before it was almost two late to pull up.

He had a hard enough time of it as it was, trying to lift not only Lauren (who was the heaviest rider of their age) and an extra rider, but also a dragon who'd stopped changing before he was back down to normal size. It felt like trying to bench press an ox.

The land was safe enough - none of the ground battles having made it this far inland, so Puck more or less pulled them into a controlled decent, rather than a true landing. He set down with a skid along the black freshly-tilled earth of a farmer's field and once he'd stopped, tucked one wing and rolled onto his side to slide Blaine off. Lauren would be sideways until she unstrapped herself, but for an extra-large girl, she was also extremely spry. Besides, they'd been training for moments like this for six years. Puck didn't even have to think much anymore. He just did things.

Once Lauren had unstrapped herself and Kurt, and then loosened Puck's saddle, she slapped his hide and cried, "Good to go!" Puck released that one part of his brain and felt his whole body relax, trembling, back into his normal form - which had better hands and a tongue that could speak words rather than screeches.

Once he got free of his saddle and tightened his shorts around his waist, Puck hurried to help Lauren with their two injured friends. Kurt looked fine, if still unconscious, but Blaine was in bad shape. His head was bloody, one horn broken and the other completely missing; the webbing of his left wing was clawed to shit; and his back was kinked funny near where his tail began.

Looking up at Puck with scared eyes (that was a first and it unnerved Puck to no end), Lauren pulled her head away from Blaine's ribs and said, "I don't think he's breathing!"

Puck wasn't so good at nursing people - last time he'd tried, he'd got burn ointment in Finn's eye - so he sat back and let Lauren do her thing. Beside him, Kurt looked so small and cold, so Puck pulled him close, sheltering him from some of the wind with his wings.

After a few minutes, Lauren looked up and shook her head, making Puck's stomach drop. He really didn't want to be the one to tell Kurt that his dragon was dead; because the news would break Kurt's heart and Puck never wanted to be the one who did that.


	8. The Finger PG13

Puck saw it happening in slow-motion, but there was nothing he could do to keep the desk from smashing down on his finger. "Son of a…!" he groaned as he shouldered the desk so he could pull his hand away and stick it in his mouth. "Fuck!"

"What did you do?" Kurt called from the other side of the giant-ass piece of furniture they were trying to get up three flights of stairs into their apartment. "Did you break something? This is an antique!"

"It's an antique pain in my ass," Puck replied, wincing at the way the feeling was coming back into his finger as a dull, overwhelming throb. "And it tried to eat my finger, babe."

"Which finger?" At least now Kurt sounded properly concerned for his well-being.

Speaking around the finger in his mouth, Puck said, "Middle on my left hand."

Sounding almost _relieved_, Kurt replied, "Oh. Well, that's okay, then."

"It's okay that I won't be able to play my guitar until this fucking heals?" Puck asked, incredulous and wondering what the hell Kurt had been concerned about in the first place, if it wasn't Puck's health.

"Well, that wasn't my first thought, no," Kurt replied, looking around the desk and giving Puck an apologetic look. "Can we get this up the last few stairs before you need some ice or…?"

Shaking his head, Puck replied, "Let's just get this motherfucker in the apartment, babe. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

Laughing a little that Kurt was worried about him _now_, Puck called back, "Yeah, I'm sure. On three."


	9. The Notebook PG13

In the fifteen minutes between the last class of the day and glee rehearsal, Kurt realized that his calculus notebook was missing. Crap. Where could it have gone? He had it during study hall when he was frantically working on finishing his homework for class, and he'd _definitely_ had it during class, because he was taking notes in it. He must have left it in the classroom.

Kurt let his head fall against the locker next to his for exactly fifteen seconds before realizing if he didn't get a move on, he was going to be missing his calculus notes _and_ be late for glee. He would have just left it until the next day, but he was afraid first, that he wouldn't get enough studying in before the test tomorrow and second, that some bonehead jock was going to find it and draw penises all over his carefully organized notes.

It had happened before.

When he got to the classroom, the first thing Kurt noticed was a figure in a Letterman jacket, hunched over a desk and scribbling furiously. Oh, great. There went Kurt's night, trying to decipher and recopy his notes so he could study for the test. Except a quick look to "his" desk on the far left of the room showed his sparkly green notebook sitting, apparently unmolested, in the basket below the chair.

So who was sitting alone in the calculus classroom after school?

As Kurt skirted around the room carefully, trying to get to his notebook without disturbing the jock, he realized the guy's profile (and hair, now that he could see it), were familiar. "Puck? What are you doing here?"

Eyes wide with surprise, Puck turned and, seeing that it was just Kurt, let out a long breath and shrugged. "What does it look like? I'm doing math."

Tilting his head, Kurt asked, "Weren't you just saying at lunch that you haven't been to a math class in _years_?"

Puck smirked and sat back in his chair, one arm draped over the back. "And isn't it funny how no one asks how I could get away with that and not get held back?"

Huh. No one had ever asked, as far as Kurt knew. "I guess everyone just assumes you intimidated Figgins into letting you pass."

"I do have a reputation to maintain," Puck nodded, closing up his books and stashing them in his backpack. "Truth is, I've been doing independent study since eighth grade so I wouldn't 'disrupt the classroom' anymore 'cause I was so bored. Just here to do tonight's homework before glee."

"In less than fifteen minutes?" Kurt asked, a laugh stalling on the tip of his tongue. "Sure."

Standing and leading the way to the door, Puck smirked, "I'm not the idiot everyone thinks I am." He paused a beat before grinning, "I'm a whole _different sort_ of idiot."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh.


	10. The Webcam PG

_I just posted days 8-10, and 11 is going up later today. Let me know what you thought!_

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Burt Hummel said into the microphone attatched to his ancient desktop computer. "Kurt, you left this Skype thing going. I don't know how to shut it off!"<p>

Kurt didn't seem to hear him. His back was to the camera and he was talking into his phone, free hand gesticulating wildly, like he was either very upset or very excited about something. Burt shrugged and tried to search on google whether it was okay to close the Skype program with the little x box thingy, or if that would keep charging him minutes. Skype charged minutes, right?

When Burt clicked back over to the Skype window to see if the program had a help menu, he saw that Kurt was laying on his bed, face up, and someone else was lying next to him, also looking at the ceiling. Their hands were idly intertwined above the bed between them and both pairs of feet kicked freely, like both boys were completely relaxed.

Huh. Kurt had mentioned he was seeing someone, but hadn't said much about him, saying it was still too new to "jinx". Whoever he was, it looked at least like he was making Kurt happy. The picture was too blurry to make out much that far away from the camera, but when the other boy shifted positions, Burt saw that he had a stupid punk haircut, kinda like that Puckerman kid had when Kurt and Finn were in high school.

Burt always knew Kurt was going to meet some interesting people when he followed his big dreams to the city, and wondered what this kid's name was. He'd have to grill Kurt for details the next time they Skyped. Burt wrote down a note to get Finn over to the house in a few days so he could get the program going again.

Provided Burt could figure out how to close the damn thing in the first place.

Ten minutes later, Burt had just read about the "End Call" button and located it when he realized the two boys on the screen were wearing a lot fewer clothes than they had been. Burt couldn't click that button fast enough.

He wrote down another note to remind Kurt to close things out from his end next time, too. Especially if he was going to be entertaining this nameless boy in his dorm room. Burt wrote down a third note, reminding himself to rib Kurt even harder about the new boyfriend, and to get his name.

As he was leaving the office and clinking down the stairs toward the kitchen to get his one allowed late-afternoon beer, Burt wondered what had ever happened to that Puckerman kid.


	11. The Lasagna PG13

Noah Puckerman was in the middle of telling his date, a chick about his age who wore hippie skirts and a surplus Air Force jacket, about winning show choir Nationals his senior year of high school when he heard a scuffle behind him and then felt something heavy, wet, and searing hot slide down his back.

"Oh my god!" a high, familiar voice cried. "I am so sorry! I'm so - Puck? What are you-? I mean, I didn't know you were in the city! Oh, my god. Kill me now." Kurt Hummel ended his speech with his face in his hands, the other arm holding up a disheveled tray of the Italian food that _hadn't_ been dumped down Puck's back. The guy looked good, like _way_ good and Puck had wondered when that had happened.

"Hey, dude," Puck replied, standing up and shrugging off his over shirt to see that most of a lasagna was on his clothes, instead of on its plate. "Cat-like reflexes as always."

Turning even more red, Kurt pushed at Puck's shoulder almost playfully before his eyes flicked over and saw Noah's date. Expression falling, Kurt cried, "Oh, and not only have I ruined Chef Margot's pride and joy, but your date, too! Who's this?" Kurt handed his tray off to a co-worker and didn't even try to help the busboy clean up the mess. As superior as ever, then.

Giving his date a hand up, Noah told Kurt, "This is Daisy. We both go to Columbia and it's our first date. Daisy, Kurt Hummel."

As Kurt mouthed at Noah, "Columbia?", Daisy asked, "So how do you know Noah?"

"Oh we used to-" Kurt tilted his head and met Noah's eyes, probably questioning whether or not Puck was out here in New York. Puck nodded his chin. "-date. Back in high school."

"Yeah, until you left me behind," Puck teased, letting his hand linger on Kurt's arm probably longer than he should have, given he was supposed to be with Daisy at the moment. He just couldn't help it with the memories of that awesome summer swirling around in his head. But then of course his train of thought ended where their relationship had – with Kurt leaving Lima for New York, Puck staying behind to work on his grades in junior college, and the fight they'd had two weeks later. "How's fashion school?" Puck asked, wishing he hadn't been such a prideful jerk.

"Well, spilling lasagna on that shirt is the highlight of my design career this semester, so…" Kurt finished with a laugh, but Puck could tell that he was actually incredibly frustrated. He also knew the best ways to ease Kurt's frustration.

Except, damn it, Puck was still on a date with someone else. And he was standing in a moderately fancy restaurant in a black wife beater…

Kurt seemed to notice his predicament as well, because he cried, "Oh, god! Where are my manners? Come. I'll help you get cleaned up and you can wear my jacket home. I insist." Back in high school, there was no way any of Kurt's jackets would have fit him. Since then, though, Kurt had got taller, broader in the shoulders and thicker in the arms. It looked good on him.

Now, Puck knew better than to trust that glint in Kurt's eye, but he still turned to Daisy and told her, "I'll be right back," before following Kurt through the restaurant. Ten minutes later, when all the marinara sauce was gone, along with his shirt and his belt, Puck asked, "D'ya wanna bet my date calls a cab before I get back?"

"You're not going back," Kurt insisted with a grin before sticking his tongue back down Puck's throat. Puck decided he'd never been so grateful to an entrée in his life.

_I'm trying to decide which story to write for the puckurt big bang. Please go to my profile page and vote in the poll for the story you'd like to see!_


	12. The Needle PG13

_Whoops! Forgot to post this last night. Enjoy!_

"Um, Kurt?" Rachel's voice broke through the fog surrounding Kurt's brain and he groaned at the throbbing it induced. "Kurt?"

"What, Rachel?" Kurt smacked his lips a few times, hating the cottony feel of his tongue, but not having the energy to do anything about it.

"You passed out on the floor," she explained, toeing his shoulder a little with her kitten-print sock. His naked shoulder.

Sighing as he stopped himself from rolling over onto his back, Kurt replied, "Tell me I'm wearing pants. Please, I beg of you."

"You _are_ wearing pants this time," she agreed, finally crouching down next to him. "I don't know why you let yourself be talked into these binge drinking sessions, Kurt. Do you know how much damage you're doing to your liver?"

"Yes, thank-" Kurt began, only to be cut off when Rachel continued.

"Not to mention your back!"

Now that she mentioned it, the skin across his lower back did feel odd. Sort of an aching, burning pain. He'd never felt anything like it. "What did I do to my back?" Kurt asked, hauling himself to a sitting position and trying to twist to see something. Only twisting made the pain so much sharper that he hissed. "What is it, Rache?"

"Um, well," Rachel hedged for a moment before he was able to catch her eyes. "You sort of have a dirty word tattooed there. Like, tramp stamp style. It's really quite awful. You know, I might know of a tincture you..."

Kurt tuned out the rest of whatever Rachel had to say as he wondered why the hell he would get such a tattoo. Rising to his feet carefully, since his equilibrium was still in freaking New Zealand for all the good it was doing him, Kurt palmed his way across the apartment to the bathroom, where he could hopefully see this travesty in the mirror.

And when he got there, he saw that he did indeed have a tattoo on his lower back. It read "Fuck" in giant, multi-colored letters across his skin. "What the...?"

Then his phone, which was thankfully still in his pocket, started vibrating. Still preoccupied by the freaking tattoo on his back, Kurt answered it without looking. "Hello?"

"Hummel, was it you I went out drinking with last night?"

"Maybe?" Kurt replied. "I don't exactly remember you being there, but to be fair, I don't remember much."

"So you wouldn't know why I've got 'Ken' tattooed on my left pec?"

"You've got one, too? I woke up with a freaking tramp stamp!"

Puck laughed, which Kurt thought was a little unfair, seeing as he also had a strange tattoo. "You gotta send me a picture!"

"No!" Kurt shrieked. "No one besides me, you, Rachel, and my dermatologist is ever going to know that I had an obscenity tattooed on my back."

"Ooh, which one?" Puck asked, chuckling over the sound of crinkling paper. "Hey, I found a receipt! There's a note at the bottom. 'I hope you and the missus like your matching tattoos. ' It's signed Trevor. I wonder who's the missus? Ken? He sounds like an uggo."

A sinking feeling settled in Kurt's stomach as he went back to the mirror and craned his neck around to get a better look at the tattoo. That wasn't an F, was it? It looked more like a P. "Noah," Kurt said carefully, swallowing the overabundance of spit that was suddenly in his mouth, "I think I might be Ken."

_Please review! Also, don't forget to vote in the poll that's up on my profile page - help me decide what to write for the Puckurt big bang!_


	13. The Coordinates PG

Kurt was interrupted in his pre-bed skin care regimen by a familiar noise coming from the sitting room of his quarters. Face only half covered in cream, Kurt stepped away from his vanity to see an officer materializing in his quarters. The man looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes, taking a sharp breath before observing, "Dude. This isn't engineering, is it?"

Wiping off his face three minutes too early and cocking his hip out to rest one hand on it, Kurt rolled his eyes and asked, "What was your first clue?"

"Um, yeah," the man replied with a sheepish grin. "I guess the transporter is on the fritz again. I heard Ensign Hudson ended up _in_ the water storage tank yesterday. Lucky me, I got sent here."

"Sure," Kurt replied, exasperated. He just wanted to finish his skin care routine and go to bed. Was that too much to ask six hours before his next shift began? Pointing to the door, Kurt said, "Well, I'm guessing you've got more important places to be, so…"

"Not really," he replied, smirk growing broader and eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "I mean, Captain Figgins wanted me to keep an eye on some negotiation or something, in case things get rowdy, but I'm sure Evans and Chang got it covered."

Taking a quick look at the man's uniform, Kurt said, "Ensign…"

"Puckerman, Noah," the man told him, taking a step or two closer, as if his intentions weren't clear enough. "But you can call me Puck."

"You know," Kurt said, taking Ensign Puckerman's elbow and showing him to the door, "I'd rather not. Good night, Ensign."

"But-"

Kurt palmed the door closed in Puck's face and locked it, trying to remember which step of his skin care regimen he'd been on before he was rudely interrupted.

_Don't forget to vote in my poll (on my profile page). The summer camp is winning by a narrow margin when you take the livejournal results into account, and the plot of that one is really starting to coalesce in my head!_


	14. The Room PG13

_Sorry it's been awhile since I posted. I've got a few more since last week, but I'm only posting two per day until I catch up!_

Kurt tiptoed hazily back into the pitch black room, so he wouldn't disturb the couple passed out against the wall in the hallway. The joint New Directions/Warblers party had been winding down for a while and Jeff's house (which was really more of a mansion) was dark for the most part, except for a few late-night revelers out by the pool. Crawling back into bed, Kurt hissed in a slurring whisper, "Sssorry, babyyy, but my ffeeeet got really collllld."

Kurt found Blaine's warm body and snuggled up behind it, wondering to himself if Blaine had a growth spurt recently or if Kurt was just far more drunk than he realized. Blaine smelled different, too. Oh, well. It was probably just the vodka dulling Kurt's senses.

"Heyyy, babyyy? Are you awwaa-awake?" Kurt asked, running his hand down Blaine's (really quite muscular) arm and down onto his hip, gripping tightly. Blaine groaned and turned around, pulling Kurt into a wet, sloppy kiss. He tasted like beer and something else Kurt couldn't quite place. Didn't matter, though. Not when Blaine was sucking on his tongue like that. Hmm. Something new. Kurt definitely approved.

As their kiss broke, the boy in Kurt's arms sighed, "That took for fucking ever, Seb."

Kurt would have been heartbroken if the voice had actually been Blaine's. But it wasn't.

Scrambling away from the boy on the bed, Kurt fumbled around until he found a lamp and switched it on. "Puckerman?"

"Hummel?"

"Where's Blaine?" Kurt asked, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve, like he could get rid of the germs Puck must've left there.

"How the fuck should I know?" Puck muttered, leaning over the side of the bed to grab his shirt and pull it on. "He's not here, man."

Kurt nodded and was halfway to the door before a thought occurred to him and he asked, "You're waiting for _Sebastian_?"

"You got a problem with that?" Puck asked angrily, like he was expecting outrage, or at very least a lecture.

But Kurt was still pretty drunk and he couldn't help picturing the two of them together. "Nope," Kurt giggled. "No problem. I'm gonna go find my boyfriend now."

Kurt turned to leave but Puck said, "Hey, Kurt? If you and Anderson ever break up, you know where to find me."

Kurt didn't turn around, or even acknowledge Puck's interest, but he did grin to himself as he left what he now realized was the wrong bedroom.


	15. The Airplane PG13

_This is the second of two drabbles I've posted today. Don't forget to read the previous one!_

Kurt had been waiting in the free lot near the airport for forty five minutes, staring at his phone and will Noah to call him to say he'd made it safely. Nothing. Exasperated and sure that his husband had broken another phone doing something stupid, like flag football in the mud again, Kurt drove to the pay lot next to the terminal and found a spot. Checking his phone every five seconds for a missed call or a text or _something_ Kurt made his way over to the baggage claim.

At the arrivals board, he looked up Noah's flight from Columbus and found that there was no carousel number. It just said "See Agent". See agent about what? Was the plane running extraordinarily late like that one time his plane to Milan had been stuck on the tarmac for three hours?

So, Kurt made his way to the airline desk, stopping at a coffee cart on the way for a little pick-me-up. Hey, if he was going to have to wait for a few hours, Kurt needed the caffeine. It had been a long week while Noah stayed back home, helping settle his nana's estate, and it had been lonely in the apartment without him.

Kurt first realized that something was wrong when he saw several people crying, and not in that "oh my god it's been so long, it's good to see you" sort of way. The airline desk was swarmed with concerned looking people and there was no way Kurt would get there anytime soon, so he found a grim-looking gentleman who was comforting an older woman and asked, "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"The flight from Columbus," the man replied, swallowing visibly and clenching his jaw, "crashed. They say it doesn't look like there're any survivors."

Fumbling his coffee a little, but not so much that it spilled, Kurt breathed, "My husband … he was on that plane. He…"

Kurt's mind went blank as he stumbled back, leaning against a wall, and he didn't realize he was answering his phone until he said, "Hello?"

"Hey, babe," his husband's voice said. What? How was this possible? "Sorry I'm not at the airport or whatever. I got fucking food poisoning last night and I just woke up. I guess I'll have to-"

"Oh, my god!" Kurt cried, finally finding enough of his voice to cut Noah off. "I love you and your stupid propensity for eating things that have clearly gone bad!"

"Uh, kay?"

"Noah, the plane you were supposed to be on," Kurt explained, sliding down the wall so he was sitting on the ground and didn't have to depend on his legs holding him up, "crashed. It crashed and no one survived and I thought you were dead but you're not and-"

"Babe!" Noah cried, loud enough to get his attention. "Kurt, baby. I love you too. And remind me to never ever fly again because holy fuck!"

"I know, honey!" Kurt replied, laughing wetly through the tears on his face. "I know!"


	16. The Fender Bender PG13

_I'm posting two more today!_

Kurt was glad that school was let out early due to an impending ice storm, because there was a test that afternoon that he'd completely forgotten to study for. Studying became difficult, he discovered, when you were obsessing over and over again about the last words your boyfriend said to you. Three days ago. And you had no idea what they meant.

He only wished that Blaine had given some sort of sign what was going on in that head of his.

With one last sigh, Kurt made his way out to his car, glad he'd gone with the Doc Martins that had a heavy tread, instead of the calfskin boots he'd contemplated that morning. The ice was thick on the ground already and the layer of almost-melted snow on top of it only made conditions worse.

After starting up his car and pulling out of his spot carefully, Kurt made his way toward the lane that led to the exit. He was halfway there when the SUV shook and made a sickening crunching noise. Someone had run into the back passenger side. And didn't even have the decency to hit the bumper.

Pissed, Kurt got out of his car and stomped around to the other side to give whatever imbecile had hit his car a piece of his mind. Oh, great. It was a fucking BMW. That Rick the Stick was just getting out of, a weird smirk on his face when he realized whose car he'd hit. "Sorry, dude!" he smiled with a wry shrug of his shoulders.

"You _fucking_ moron!" Kurt cried, not caring that Rick was about four inches taller than him and much heavier built. "You'd think a hockey player would know how to handle his car on the ice, but _no_! It's no wonder your shit-pile of a team loses all their games! You'll pay for every cent of the damages or so help me I will fucking _end you_."

"Relax, Ladyface," Rick replied, nodding his smarmy little grin over at some bystanders. "The way I see it, you pulled out in front of me, so _you_ should be the one paying damages. I guess it's true what they say about women drivers, huh?"

After the week Kurt had been having, that was the last straw. With the best war cry he could summon, Kurt launched himself at Rick, forgoing years of pacifism in one fell swoop as he did his best to tear the jerk's head from his body.

Kurt didn't make it that far. Someone's strong arms around his torso stopped him before he got to Rick and a familiar voice said in his ear, "Leave it, Hummel! There's too many witnesses!"

Looking behind him at the source of the restraint, Kurt said, "Puck?"

"Yeah, come on," Puck replied, pulling Kurt further away from the hockey douche and against his (really quite muscular body). "Pick your battles, dude. I know where he lives."

Kurt met Puck's eyes and let a slow, vindictive smile spread across his lips.


	17. The Earth PG

_This is the second of two drabbles posted today. Don't miss the previous one!_

Kurt avoids Puck whenever he can, keeping an eye out for that silver and black fur and running the opposite direction. He's not afraid of Puck _per se_, but Kurt is afraid of what happens whenever they get too close together.

It shouldn't even work that way. Kurt and Puck are just different from one another - Kurt spends most of the day preening his dark red fur and thinking, occasionally taking the time to catch something to eat, while Puck spends most of his day gnawing on bones and chasing smaller animals, playing with them cruelly before killing them.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does Kurt feel compelled to dart alongside Puck as he trots through his territory? Why does he take long, deep breaths of the coyote's scent? Why does he give into the magnetic pull of Puck's toothy smile? Why can't Kurt control himself?

_This time_, Kurt thinks to himself, looking down from the stars at the world he and Puck accidentally created with their mating, _I think I'll try populating this one with people. That world full of shrimp was just not as entertaining as I thought it would be._

Standing over Kurt and licking the fox's jaw playfully, Puck thinks, _I think I'll name this one Earth._

_This is based off a Native American creation myth and I wrote it while half asleep. Sorry it makes no sense_


	18. The Skate PG

_This is the first of two drabbles I posted today._

"Dude," Puck scoffed, leaning down and offering Kurt a hand, "how are you so bad at this?"

"I didn't realize I was _supposed_ to be good at ice skating, Puck," Kurt replied, wanting to pull his hand out of the other boy's, but not feeling steady enough on his skates to do so. He tried willing himself over toward the side of the rink and the railing there, but almost fell again in the process. "My butt is gonna be so bruised," he sighed. "Why did I let you guys talk me into this?"

"Because," Puck replied with a grin, turning on his skates so he was facing Kurt and skating backward, "we were all getting cabin fever and it was either this or riding the subway around for a few hours straight. It's not like any of us has the money for a movie or something."

"I _know_," Kurt sighed, watching his roommate, Rachel, skate past, hand-in-hand with Finn. "It's just- ack!"

One of Kurt's skates knocked into the other and he almost went down, except Puck grabbed him close and helped him regain his balance, puffing hot breaths against Kurt's wind-chilled ear.

"Dude," Puck laughed, backing off a little (not far enough) and getting them moving again. "I've seen you roller skate. This is, like, the same thing."

"It is not!" Kurt cried, knowing he was probably wrong. It was just the physics that boggled Kurt's mind. Instead of four sturdy wheels under each foot, there was simply a thin metal blade. How was he supposed to balance on that? Frowning at Puck, Kurt asked, "How in God's name are you so good at this?"

Puck shrugged and looked over his shoulder for a moment, as if making sure the path was clear. Then he turned back and told Kurt, "My dad used to coach the peewee hockey team, so I played for a few years. Kinda quit when he left, though."

"I'm sorry," Kurt replied, squeezing Puck's hand in his. And then Kurt realized that he'd been moving forward under his own power for far too long and promptly fell on his ass again. Scowling up at Puck, he hissed, "Quit laughing at me and help me up, you jerk!"


	19. The Horse PG

_This is the second of two drabbles I've posted today. Make sure you don't miss "The Skate"! _

Private Kurt Hummel swayed in time with his horse's stride to he could level his pistol and aim true at the Confederate spy escaping through the woods with General Sylvester's battle plans. He shot once, reloaded and then shot again, managing to nick the spy's arm, but failing to bring him down.

Kurt's platoon mates, Hudson and Evans, rode beside him, also shooting at the spy, but not quite bringing him down. If he got back behind the line with those plans, Union soldiers would die by the thousands. Kurt couldn't let that happen.

It was just after Kurt's third shot landed, hitting St. James in the thigh, that Kurt's horse turned a leg and stumbled, falling to her side and throwing Kurt to the forest floor. His head hit a particularly hard log when he landed and everything went black.

When Kurt woke up, it was beside a crackling fire and covered in blankets that smelled musky, like they belonged to another man. The fire was in an actual hearth and there was a roof above his throbbing head, so Kurt assumed he was in someone's house. Turning his head toward the room, Kurt saw that it was a single room cabin and its owner (presumably) sat in a rocking chair, determinedly picking at his guitar. The man's dark hair was shorn almost as close as a sheep's and his broad, muscular shoulders spoke of years of manual labor.

When he realized he'd been watching the man for far too long (a habit Kurt's father had tried and failed to coax out of him), Kurt looked away and cleared his throat. Acting as if he'd just woke up, Kurt blinked a few times, slowly, and yawned before turning to meet the stranger's eyes and asking, "Where am I? Who are you?"

"Hey, fella," the man replied, setting down his guitar and standing up. "How's the head?"

"Sir," Kurt began, sitting up and glad he wasn't dizzy from it, "my head will be fine. Please answer my questions."

Taking the few steps between them, the man held out his hand to be shook and replied, "Noah Puckerman, and this is my house."

Kurt returned Mr. Puckerman's handshake and asked suspiciously, "What side are you on?"

"Neither side," the man replied with a friendly grin. "Dodged the draft, built myself a cabin out here in the woods, and everything was fine until your war stumbled onto my property."

Incredulous and wondering if the man was some sort of coward, Kurt got out of bed and stood up to Mr. Puckerman, crying, "Don't you even care that the South seceded from the Union?"

"No," Mr. Puckerman scoffed. "They can do what they want. Plus, this whole war and draft and everything has got in the way of me going into town and entertaining the ladies, if you will."

Kurt scoffed, which Mr. Puckerman seemed to take offense to.

"You take issue with my conduct?"

A dangerous look glinted in Mr. Puckerman's eyes, which made a sharp thrill run up Kurt's throat. He stammered, "N-no. Of course not, sir. Why would I criticize the man who has taken care of me when I was in need? Now, which way do I go to get back to the road and my regiment?"

"Oh, no," the man said, "I ain't just letting you walk outta here so you can lead your friends back here and force me into fighting. No, sir. As soon as you can walk, I'm takin' you outta here blindfolded."

"Fine, then," Kurt replied, standing up and noticing that all his weapons, along with his hat and his cravat, were nowhere to be seen. . "I'll be on my way. My effects, please?"

Mr. Puckerman handed over Kurt's things, his eyes vigilant as Kurt put himself back together. His head throbbed a little, but otherwise it was fine and soon he was ready to go. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Mr. Puckerman nodded, taking a scrap of dark cloth - it looked like it might have been part of a uniform at some point, and tied it around Kurt's eyes. His elbow was grasped and soon they were out of the cabin, walking through the woods, Kurt's boots crunching dried leaves and fallen twigs. Eventually, the man spoke, hot in Kurt's ear, "I'm not a coward."

Confused and wondering if the nervous twitch in his stomach and the shiver down his spine were due to his head injury, Kurt replied, "I assumed no such thing." He had, in fact, come to that very conclusion.

"Why would I fight in a war that killed my wife and daughter?"

Kurt stumbled a little, still unnerved by the voice in his ear while he was unable to see the unspoken words on the man's face. A strong arm caught Kurt around the middle and set him back on his feet as he said, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Besides," Mr. Puckerman continued, "were I to fight, I'd probably have to kill handsome young soldiers like yourself," and set a light kiss on Kurt's surprised lips.

With that, the arm on Kurt's waist retreated and the air around Kurt grew silent. Kurt stopped and listened for Mr. Puckerman's footsteps, but didn't hear them. Curious, he ripped off his blindfold (which upon inspection _was_ a scrap torn from a Union uniform) and found himself on the edge of a road, the forest to his back.

Kurt was intrigued, but he knew it was his duty to get back to his regiment as soon as he was able. So, he built a little cairn by the side of the road and promised himself that as soon as the war was over, he'd come back to this spot and venture into the woods in search of Mr. Noah Puckerman's humble cabin.


End file.
